


la main de l'ange

by yewgrove



Category: Mozart l'Opéra Rock - Mozart/Baguian & Guirao
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 00:18:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14176476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yewgrove/pseuds/yewgrove
Summary: Nannerl's visit to her brother means meeting Constance Weber. Meeting Constance Weber - inevitably - means falling in love.





	1. I: Missing Scene

**Author's Note:**

> a fic for april filles! see all the prompts at la-femme-est-souveraine.tumblr.com.

The email was sent to their father, Nannerl copied in and hailed with a quick postscript. It was long, energetic, trying too hard in the way that all of Wolfgang’s emails to Leopold tried too hard. Full of justifications, explanations, reasons why Wolfgang had absolutely been _forced_ to quit his job. Nannerl knew, with a stab of pride and affection, the effort her brother must have put into making this email sound responsible. She also knew that no matter what Wolfgang said, their father would view it as making excuses.

She read the email through a couple times, and then dropped her novel with a sigh, flopping backwards onto her bed and waiting for the inevitable phone call. Sure enough, within a few minutes her phone let out a determined buzzing, and then her brother’s voice flooded the room, tinny and joyous.

‘How’s my sister?’

‘Don’t pretend you want to know,’ said Nannerl, and instantly regretted it. Wolfgang wasn’t to blame for Nannerl’s claustrophobic life. ‘I’m fine. Sorry. How are you? How was your liberation?’

This was clearly what Wolfgang had been waiting for. He launched into an enthusiastic spiel about his tyrannical boss, his unfair contract, how he'd had no alternative but to leave, and Nannerl, with only minimal guilt, let her attention wander.

It's not that she wasn't happy for him. Colloredo had been a terrible employer, by all accounts, and Wolfgang was well rid of him. She’d been worried - of course she had; that was all she seemed to do with her life, worry about Wolfgang, and that was probably an unfair thought, but Nannerl was used to unfairness, used to it and tired of smiling through it. Now, perhaps, she could take a break from her role as a supporting character in her brother's life.

A tiny, uneventful spring breeze tried and failed to move the faded curtains. Cold, washed sunlight flickered over the glassy eyes of the collection of stuffed animals that had been Nannerl’s bedfellows for years - tattered bears, a cat with a frayed tail, a battered starling that had once been Wolfgang’s. She tuned back in to her brother’s voice.

‘ - and it's not just about Colloredick, you know, it's about all of them, all those bosses who spend their whole lives thinking your worth is determined by how - how shiny your shoes are, or whatever -’

Nannerl resisted the urge to laugh. Her last birthday present to Wolfgang had been a pair of converse entirely covered with silver sequins.

‘ - it doesn't matter who they are, nobody deserves to be worshipped and tiptoed around like they're a god, you can't give anyone that kind of authority over you .’

‘I’m proud of you,’ she said, as he seemed to be drawing to a close. Which was the truth. ‘I didn’t want to say this while you were still working for him, but I’m pretty sure Colloredo was from literal hell.’

‘Mmm,’ Wolfgang agreed. There was a small pause. ‘How do you think he’ll take it?’

Nannerl, because she was a good sister, didn’t pretend not to know which _he_ Wolfgang meant. Because she was a good sister, she didn’t lie.

‘Probably not great,’ she said. ‘He’ll think you’re being ridiculous, naive, throwing away another opportunity.’

Another small silence trickled down the phone into Nannerl’s ear.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t matter what he thinks. You’re in Vienna, remember? You’re an adult, living your own life.’

And that ought to have earned her a medal, at the very least. The award for suppressing any hint of the bitterness that's choking your life goes to Nannerl Mozart. She’d like to thank the Academy.

‘I suppose it's unlikely he'll come to Vienna to tell me off in person,’ Wolfgang said. ‘Oh, hey, you’ll like this - I moved!’

‘Where to?’

Wolfgang’s voice was taut with barely suppressed glee. ‘You remember Aloysia who you stole from me?’

‘I didn’t steal her! We never even hooked up!’ Nannerl couldn’t contain her smile at the thought of Wolfgang’s first girlfriend. Aloysia had been jagged, reserved, trying her best to hide her sharp sarcasm and venomous distrust of men so that she and Wolfgang could be the power couple everyone expected them to be. She’d kissed Nannerl one night during spin the bottle, and broken up with Wolfgang the next day.

‘Well,’ said Wolfgang merrily, ‘she’s moved out to live with her girlfriend, and I’m renting out her room from her mother.’

‘You’re _what_?’ Nannerl sputtered slowly into giggles. ‘I thought her mother hated you!’

‘Oh, she does,’ said Wolfgang lightly. ‘But she wants the money. And Aloysia’s sisters are all here. Constance is looking after me.’

‘What’s she like?’ Nannerl asked, truly curious for the first time in their conversation. She’d never met any of Aloysia’s sisters - despite Wolfgang’s joking, she’d barely met Aloysia. ‘Constance’ left her with a vague impression of blonde hair, of some big fight that Aloysia and Constance had had back when Wolfgang had been dating Aloysia, and that Nannerl had received vague third-hand updates on.

‘Oh, she’s brilliant,’ Wolfgang said evasively. ‘A complete sweetheart. Probably a genius, too. Hey, what have you been up to? Have you finished that book you were reading yet?’ 

_That book_ was the latest release by Nannerl’s favorite author. She traced one hand over the simple letters on the cover beside her. ‘I was midway through it, when someone decided to call me. I didn’t think she’d be as good at sci fi as she is at fantasy but she _is_ , it’s phenomenal.’

‘What’s it called again?’ Wolfgang asked innocently.

‘"If I Falter",’ said Nannerl. There wasn’t much point being suspicious of Wolfgang. Whatever he was up to would come out eventually. ‘I’ve been trying to get you to read Maria Arachne for ages, I’ll mail it to you when I’m done, I mean it.’

‘You probably won’t need to,’ Wolfgang said. ‘Oh, I’ll probably have time to catch up on reading now, at least!’

‘Welcome to unemployment,’ Nannerl said.

‘I’m not _unemployed_ ,’ said Wolfgang. ‘I’m _self_ -employed. Like you.'

‘You know I don’t earn anything from my music. It’s just a hobby.’ Their father had, apparently, had enough money to send Wolfgang to study composing, but not for Nannerl to do the same. More unfairness, old unfairness, and she knew that Wolfgang felt bad about it, though he rarely brought it up, so she kept it to herself, the old bruise that ached every time she picked up her guitar.

‘Well, it shouldn’t be,’ Wolfgang was saying. ‘You’re _good_ , Nannerl. Your songs are brilliant. You know you’re not going to get any exposure living at home, but -’ 

‘Wolfgang,’ she said, with as much discouragement as she could manage to pour into her voice. It wasn't enough.

He kept on, undeterred, in true Wolfgang fashion. ‘If you moved out - came to stay with me in Vienna - you could really get somewhere!’

‘You know I can’t leave.’ Nannerl rolled over onto her side, facing the wilted curtains, willing the hotness in her eyes to stay there. Wolfgang got like this, sometimes. He was easily distracted, and never home, but he had some idea, however much Nannerl tried to keep it from him, of how trapped Nannerl felt living with their father. ‘Since Mother died, he relies on having me around.’

‘He could at least spare you for a visit,’ Wolfgang argued. ‘You could come steal Constance from me as well.’

‘Ha ha.’

Nannerl let out her breath in a huge, shuddering rush, and sat up. Her hair was sticking to her damp face. She went to the window, brushing the strands off of her cheek. The sky had filled up with rolling grey cloud, and the unwilling breeze was cool and heavy with the suggestion of rain to come.

The thing was, their father _could_ spare her for a visit. She knew, abstractly, that he’d say yes, that he’d be happy for her to go, that he’d want someone to go check on Wolfgang. Getting Leopold’s approval for a visit to Vienna was only a part of the problem. The other part lay half-buried in Nannerl’s stray thoughts, waiting to trip her up. Vienna, in her head, was a half-formed idea of unstifled laughter and liberty, a place where people got a chance to live for themselves. If she let herself have that, even for a brief few days, she might not be able to let go of it again. If she left, she might find it unbearable to go back.

‘I’ll read that author you like if you come stay,’ Wolfgang wheedled. ‘I miss my big sister!’

The wind was starting to pick up. Nannerl reached out to close the window against it, and seized up halfway there, the cold metal of the window latch clenched in her hand, torn between laughing and crying because she couldn’t even bear to close the window in her own home, because keeping the rain out meant keeping her spirit in. The first drop hit her, fading cold against her skin, and something finally crumbled.

'You're right.'

'And we can go visit Aloysia - wait, what?'

Nannerl's heart was swinging wildly, a balloon on a string, buoyed on the sudden rush of excitement she was feeling. If she left, she might not come back. What if she didn't care?

‘I’ll come,’ she said, and hung up the phone on Wolfgang's sounds of glee.


	2. II: Modern AU/Crossover

Nannerl finished If I Falter on the train to Vienna, and almost threw the book across the carriage. The previous books she'd read by Maria Arachne had both had happy endings - but this one was different. Towards the end of their years of adventures in space, the protagonist and her wife had been sent on separate missions, and her wife’s ship was lost. Everyone believed her wife to be dead, but there were rumors, whispers of sightings of a ghost ship, and the protagonist followed them back towards earth - only to find that her years of lightspeed travel had warped time for her. A hundred years on earth had passed while she’d been travelling, and everyone she’d known was gone. She was left wandering as an alien on the planet that had been her home, unable to fit into the new society she found on earth, searching hopelessly for her wife. The book ended with a choice, a chance for her to fit in again. She could have an injection that would erase her memories and allow her to start again. Or she could keep her past, keep her identity, but remain alien forever. The book didn't tell you which she chose.

Nannerl scrubbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her blue sweater, and shoved the book back into her bag, glaring at it. The people around her began to shift and murmur as the train pulled into the station, and Nannerl followed the hubbub of the crowd out onto the crowded platform, scanning for a sign of Wolfgang.

‘Nannerl!’

The advantage of having the world’s sparkliest man for a brother was that it was very easy to locate him in a crowd. There he was, bouncing towards her, wearing a pair of vibrant pink overalls with sequins bedazzling the straps, and grinning wide enough to knock the sun out of the sky. He’d done something unfortunate to his hair since the last time she’d seen him - the roots were still the same rich brown that they shared, but the ends had been bleached to an almost fluorescent blonde colour. She was strongly reminded of some sort of a bird as he came hopping across the platform towards her and gathered her into an enthusiastic hug.

‘You made it!’ he crowed. ‘There was still a part of me that didn’t think you’d really come! How are you? How was your trip?’

‘It was fine,’ said Nannerl. She noticed, and tried not to think about it, that the grin spreading across her face was the widest and most open smile she’d felt in a long time. ‘That’s some outfit.’

‘At least nobody will mistake me for a straight person,’ Wolfgang said happily. ‘Oh! I forgot - I brought Constance to meet you!’

He let go of Nannerl and flapped an arm behind him, drawing Nannerl’s attention to a blonde woman standing behind them, watching the two of them curiously.

‘Let her breathe, Wolfi.’

The woman - Constance - stepped forwards, giving Nannerl a hopeful sort of smile, and Nannerl felt her heart turn over in her chest. Constance was wearing a suit jacket in a shimmering dusky pink color, and a pair of pale purple jeans. Bright gray eyes, as clear as water, shone from underneath a cascade of golden hair, and Nannerl added another unfairness to the catalogue of unfairnesses haunting her life. Because sure, there wasn’t any particular reason that Wolfgang should have let her know ahead of time that his ex-girlfriend’s sister was a literal angel descended to earth to grace mortals with her presence, but that didn’t mean that Nannerl wouldn’t have appreciated the warning.

‘He’s told me a lot about you,’ said Constance, looping her arm through Nannerl’s, and grabbing hold of Nannerl’s suitcase with her other hand. ‘I’m glad you finally made it - I didn’t think I was ever going to get to meet you!’

‘Mmhm. Wow,’ said Nannerl, and then bit her tongue, flushing. ‘I mean, it’s good to meet you too.’

Wolfgang was watching with benign merriment. Either he had somehow failed to notice the crisis that his sister, the world’s most useless lesbian, was having, or he’d happened across a rare moment of tact and was keeping his observations to himself. Either way, Nannerl was grateful when he latched onto her other arm and started to tow them out of the train station.

‘We live just round the corner,’ he said. ‘Well, I say _just_ \- it’s a little ways, actually, but I figured you wouldn’t mind the walk, and anyway I don’t think I can afford a taxi.’

‘You definitely can’t,’ Constance confirmed. ‘Nannerl, your brother is the absolute worst at job-hunting.’

‘Something will come up,’ Wolfgang insisted. ‘I’m waiting to hear back from that Joseph guy, remember, the one who wants me to write the soundtrack for his film.’

‘A film soundtrack?’ said Nannerl, trying not to let the envy leak into her voice.

‘Yeah,’ said Wolfgang, as modestly as he could manage, which naturally did nothing to disguise the pride and excitement he felt at the idea. ‘They’re still considering, but I really do think it’ll go to me. And the guy from the studio that I met at interview, Antonio, was really nice!’

‘What was it he said about you?’ chirped Constance. ‘ _Infinitely talented_?’

‘Infinitely talented!’ Wolfgang repeated. ‘Anyway, he writes music as well, so he ought to know.’

‘He also said you don’t have enough experience for the post,’ Constance reminded him.

‘I know,’ said Wolfgang. ‘But he liked me. I could tell.’

Constance rolled her eyes lightly, with the air of one used to dealing with Wolfgang’s enthusiasms.

‘So, Nannerl, you write music?’

‘Wolfgang’s the composer,’ Nannerl said, and was instantly drowned out with cries of ‘Bullshit’ from either side.

‘I don’t believe that for a second,’ Constance said. ‘Wolfgang writes… what’s it called… pretentious music -’

‘Hey,’ Wolfgang protested mildly.

‘- but you write things that people actually want to listen to.’

Nannerl was going to expire on the spot if this went on much longer.

‘You showed her my music?’ she asked Wolfgang despairingly.

‘No,’ he said. And then, as she continued to stare at him, ‘Well, yes, but only a couple songs - and that was only because she knew about you anyway. The first thing she said to me when I moved in was “I’ve been meaning to ask, is your sister singer-songwriter Nannerl Mozart?”’

‘I know your songs on Soundcloud,’ Constance said. ‘The instrumental ones are amazing for working to. I must’ve listened to your album a _hundred_ times.’

‘Thanks?’ Nannerl tried, for lack of anything better to say, and Constance laughed.

‘Here we are!’ Wolfgang announced.

They had drawn round a corner and down a narrow street, and were approaching a tall, slightly dilapidated-looking building. The curtains in the windows were closed, and the fabric was dyed with a repeating pattern of blue and white eyes. Constance let go of Nannerl’s arm in order to fish out a key from her pocket, and Nannerl tried to pretend that she wasn’t feeling its absence incredibly keenly.

‘Welcome home!’ Constance said, pushing open the door. The hallway was dark, and led into a cluttered living room, strewn with various books, bits of paper, and clothes hanging out to dry, some of which Constance recognized as Wolfgang’s. ‘Wolfgang’s taking up Aloysia’s old room, but we’ve moved Sophie into Josepha’s, and you’re staying in Sophie’s.’

‘Are you sure?’ said Nannerl, taken aback. ‘I can stay on a sofa or something, you know, I don’t mind.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

Constance was interrupted by a loud giggling, and a rush of footsteps from the hall behind them. Two other girls, younger than Constance, clattered into the room.

‘Here are the pests,’ Wolfgang said goodnaturedly. The little blonde one stuck out her tongue at him.

‘I’m Sophie,’ she said.

‘And I’m Josepha!’ the brunette one interrupted, pushing Sophie aside in order to grab hold of Nannerl’s hand. ‘We’re really glad you’re here; we’ve heard so much about you.’

‘It’s great to meet you,’ Nannerl managed, laughing, as Sophie pushed back into view and looked her up and down with a wink.

‘Move over, Wolfgang,’ she said. ‘I have a new favorite Mozart now!’

‘Alright, alright,’ said Constance archly. ‘Calm down. Nannerl, come on, I’ll show you your room.’

Nannerl relaxed gratefully into Constance’s company as they headed up the dusty wood stairs.

‘Sorry about them,’ Constance said. ‘They can be a little excessive.’

‘Excessive siblings are something of my speciality,’ said Nannerl, and Constance laughed.

Sophie’s room was small but bright. A narrow bed with a freshly-made air about it was pushed against one wall; the other wall was taken up with a closet, which looked as though opening the doors would set off an avalanche of hastily-tidied clothes. The walls were covered in posters of Halsey. There was also a copy of If I Falter splayed spine-upwards on the bedside table.

‘Sophie likes Maria Arachne?’ Nannerl asked, unable to stop herself. Her hand inadvertently drifted out to touch the spine of the book in a proprietary caress.

Constance gave a sort of chuckle. ‘Well, most of the time. Why, have you read her?’

‘She’s my favorite author,’ Nannerl said. ‘Not enough people have read her - she’s so niche, what are the odds?’

‘Did you read that one?’ Constance asked, with a nod towards If I Falter.

‘I finished it on the train up here.’

‘Hey, what did you think?’

Nannerl opened her mouth to try to find words, let out a faint screaming sound, and closed it again.

‘Okay,’ said Constance, ‘see, I can’t tell whether that’s good, or…’

‘I loved it, but the _ending_!’ Nannerl said. ‘It was - wait, did you read it, I don’t want to spoil it - I’m going to make you read it if you haven’t, I’ve been trying to get Wolfgang to read them for _ever_.’

‘It’s fine, you won’t spoil it,’ said Constance, dropping down onto the bed and patting the covers next to her. Nannerl went to sit next to her, had a momentary crisis about how close was too close to sit, and ended up sinking onto the floor instead, leaning against the bedframe and giving herself a strict internal shake. 

‘It’s just - the cliffhanger,’ she said, because the faster she got back to thinking about books rather than how ridiculous she was being, the better. ‘Not knowing whether she’ll choose to forget. I wasn’t expecting it, Arachne’s other books have all been so, I don’t know, resolved? I love Maria Arachne, but I could _strangle_ her for this one.’

‘Please don’t,’ Constance said, laughing. ‘Anyway, I hear she’s working on a sequel, so you won’t be in perpetual torment forever.’

‘She’s _what_?’ This was enough to make Nannerl push herself up off of the floor and slide onto the bed next to Constance, grabbing her arm. ‘For real?’

‘For real,’ said Constance. ‘“The Angel’s Hand”, coming out next year.’

‘Good,’ said Nannerl fervently. ‘It’s not that I don’t appreciate the narrative power of leaving it unresolved, but I really really need to know whether she’ll find her wife.’

‘Didn’t her wife die?’ Constance asked innocently.

‘There’s absolutely _no way_ she’s dead,’ Nannerl said. ‘Maria Arachne wouldn’t hurt me like that.’

Constance was surveying Nannerl with those cool, bright eyes, clearly enjoying her reactions. ‘You know,’ she said, thoughtfully, ‘I think you’re right.’

Nannerl glanced up and met Constance’s intent gaze, and the thread of her thoughts abruptly snapped. She was suddenly, vividly aware that she was still holding on to Constance’s wrist. The thought sent her pulse jumping against Constance’s skin like a moth against a lightbulb, and she let go with a little laugh.

‘I’ll let you settle in,’ said Constance, standing up with an easy smile. ‘There’ll be dinner later, provided Wolfgang doesn’t destroy the entire house by trying to help cook. Come find me if you need anything.’

Nannerl watched her leave the room, waiting until the sound of footsteps had made it to the bottom of the stairs before closing her eyes tight and letting out the breath she’d been holding.

‘Great job, Nannerl,’ she muttered, out loud, because somebody had to talk some sense into her ridiculous brain. And then, ‘The angel’s hand, indeed.’


End file.
